


time

by ninata



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, ロード・エルメロイⅡ世の事件簿 - 三田誠 | Lord El-Melloi II Case Files - Sanda Makoto
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, T for descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: Lord El-Melloi II wakes up from a nightmare, only to find Melvin waiting for him.





	time

Lord El-Melloi II wakes up in a cold sweat.

This happens a lot. His eyes are burning with sweat and tears, his mind tight and uncomfortable in his skull. His heart, which seems to be in a terror sprint, is miles ahead of him, turning his blood into ice with the distance, thinning it, making the arduous process of pumping it to his extremities impossible. The lord trembles, trying and failing to catch his breath.

The worst part is that it wasn’t a coherent nightmare. It isn’t anything with some symbolic meaning. It was the same cityscape of Fuyuki, Japan, the same convenience store meals, the same torn up bodies skewed from their normal purposes. As he racked his exhausted brain for dream divination’s methods, he realized it just didn’t mean anything. It was simply an unconscious mind remembering what it didn’t want to, reworking it just enough to seem like a fresh encounter, a new wound. A scene that could’ve been, but wasn’t. The longer he sits awake, the less he even remembers the dream’s contents. It does not lessen the pain.

This is no reason to be upset. He carries this burden without thinking. If anything, he is ashamed it still hurts. If anything, he barely realizes an open wound still bleeds. He wipes the blood away with irritation, wondering where it’s coming from. He sighs, for it is his greatest annoyance that he cannot ever make amends for his failures, no matter what he does or how hard he tries. No one will ever forgive him for his transgressions, his insolence. Without forgiveness, he can only torture himself over it.

He leans forward in his chair, leaning his arm on his desk. There was a time long ago when he cried. That well was paved over ages ago. He swallows a few times, trying to gather himself. The year it is, where he is. His office. Not Japan. No halved heads, no organs stretched taut, no red cape disappearing into the sea, being swallowed up by flames, being torn to shreds by immeasurable weapons. Nothing. That is almost comforting, but the fact it's all gone hurts almost as much as if he were still in the thick of it.

The truth is that one day it'll be gone. Whatever happened will only be a memory, with no one other than himself alive to remember it. It'll be over, and he'll be the only one still clinging to it. Another Grail War will come and go. The fight in 1994 will be tied up and forgotten. It'll be ten years in two, and the fact it's so fresh in his mind but completely over in reality causes no shortage of anxiety.

One day, he'll be gone, too. The event itself will remain in history, thoughtlessly recorded as a footnote, another number to add to a count. No one will remember what he saw that night on that red bridge, golden light flooding his senses. No one will remember seeing him fall.

He's getting a headache between his eyes. A straight shot back to his skull. Sometimes he wishes he could cry.

The morning has already broken, as his eyes tell him. The sky is white and grey, filled with a layer of clouds. His office is still dark, shadows clinging to his books and his pens, the sofas, the table.

It is with a terrible sadness that Lord El-Melloi II begins his Tuesday. He rubs the bridge of his nose like it may send the headache packing, but it won't. The phantoms have left him like they always do, leaving him alone. The city is alive already, but he himself…

Well, "like a corpse" is wrong. He's alive too. Maybe that's worse. He's alive and aware of himself, of the clothing clinging to his skin, of the hair sticking to his face, and more than that, he is alone again.

It's abruptly that he hears the door open.

"Waver, are you— Oh! You're up."

That cheerful voice grates his nerves.

Melvin Weins enters the room without waiting for a reply of any kind, closing the door and looking around.

"I felt bad leaving you like this last night, but looks like you slept fine!"

He squints at Melvin with clear irritation, but that does nothing to dissuade him.

"Let's see...oh! Let me make you tea! I do so love doing that. You have an electric kettle in here, don't you?"

"...I do." To his chagrin. He prefers a teapot for a stove, but an office wouldn't have a stove unless he worked in the Alchemy department. He was fond of his aesthetics, but convenience was also important.

Melvin wanders off with the kettle for water. He wipes his face in the meantime, stretching his back. His ribs feel like they crack open, and he can breathe a little better. He sighs, and sighs again. Melvin opens the door again humming to himself, and he frowns at the sound.

"How much work did you get done last night?" Melvin asks, flipping on the kettle. 

"Enough. I'll have the rest finished before noon."

"Do you even know what time it is?" Melvin teases. "It's already eight. You'd better hustle."

"All I have to do is fill out three forms and stamp them." He retorts. "It's not that much work."

"Ah, that's our Waver! Reliable as always."

The kettle's distinct click notes the temperature of the water. He doesn't watch Melvin prepare the cup, nor does he listen to the continued humming. He rests against the back of his chair, shutting his eyes. 

"Did you get anything to eat last night?"

"Didn't need to."

"You always say that. After you're done with these forms, let's go get something to eat, okay? It'll be serious if a Lord of the Clock Tower dies from starvation."

And he grumbles, cracking his eyes open at the sound of ceramic against wood. A milky beige cup of tea rests in front of him, still steaming, and Waver imagines the flowery aroma to wrap around his head. Delicately he takes the handle in his fingers, darker around the knuckles, curving softly around the pale mug, and raises that mug to his lips, indulging in a sip when he knows the temperature will still be too much for him to enjoy it. He's right, but it's enough to tell there's a good amount of milk in the tea, and it's sweet.

He's annoyed Melvin knows how he likes his tea. He doesn't even bother making his tea the way he likes it all the time, but Melvin has the nerve to remember. Waver would be trying to shake him off in the cafeteria, deeply offended by any snide comments about how he prepared it, proclaiming it was perfectly normal for a gentleman to have milk and honey in his tea. Who wanted to drink something bitter and disgusting? Melvin had gotten an earful more than once on the subject, as Waver was ever-so eager to defend himself from any criticism.

"Ah, you're smiling." Melvin fires at him. "Thinking about that Adashino from Records, maybe?"

"Hardly." Waver shakes his head, taking another sip. "Don't let your imagination get ahead of you, Melvin."

Melvin laughs lightly. It's a pleasant sound. Waver remembers to slide a coaster under his mug, and takes a deep breath.

Melvin goes and makes himself a cup. Waver doesn't stop him. His drastic change in mood is thanks to the idiot who's still fascinated by tea bags, piling three into his mug. He's too stubborn to admit it, but he doesn't actually feel as miserable for now.

It'll come back at night time, or maybe even when he's doing his paperwork. But for now, he enjoys the tea. As he does, he casts a glance over at Melvin.

Melvin's expression is as light as that laughter before. His eyes are light, shining with something meaningful that Waver can't bear to place. In the sparse sunlight, Melvin's skin is ghastly, curling around his cheeks and loose around his lips, which hang open just a little. Those eyes are filled to the brim with something Waver doesn't understand, and may never hope to. It pours out of him, floats around him, fills the air between them and rests at the bottom of their respective cups of tea. Waver feels color flood to his face, and he is cowardly, turning his eyes away and taking a drought from the cup. Better not to touch on whatever that was. The tea is lovely, and he chooses to think of that. Melvin has returned to his cup, a smile stark against his features, pink against white.

"What a nice morning." Melvin says, and the tone he takes then says more than Waver is sure he wants to hear. Melvin doesn't pay his discomfort any mind, drinking his tea with gentle cadence.

It's the usual attitude between the two of them. Another morning begins, and Waver returns to his lordly business with a heavy heart. El-Melloi II takes his ink to paper, and he doesn't quite shake off his bad mood completely.

"Thank you, Melvin." But he does say that in earnest. He means that, and he wishes he could express that feeling a little more. Melvin smiles brightly, as if he's said something particularly brilliant.

"Remember, lunch! Come find me when you're done." Melvin pats Waver's hand. Waver doesn't mind it. They part ways, and Waver finishes his tea along with the forms.

It's sweet. That taste on his tongue makes him think of strange things, and he briefly wonders if Melvin tampered with the tea, knowing he's just doing it to himself.

Fuyuki still burns in the back of his mind, fire raining down from the sky, one long wail erupting from the boiling mass of land as he watched in horror from the Mackenzie's. Even if he wanted to forget, he never could. Some things never leave you. Sometimes, no matter how much you wish it was gone, or how many times you wash your hands, or scrub your body, the stink of death stays with you. Everyone who sees him must know. It's that pain that keeps him humble, keeps him up at night, sticks to his sweaty skin as he tries and fails to accept the gravity of what happened in those seven days. 

He may never reach Okeanos. And even if he does, he may never forgive himself for what happened.

The heavy weight of dread settles in just as always. El-Melloi II finishes his work with that profound sadness inside him again.

But when he goes looking, he finds Melvin waiting as usual, like nothing ever could change between them. 

"Alright, then, Waver! Shall we get going?"

"...I think I'd like that, yes."

**Author's Note:**

> HEY  
> i know i'm making a fool out of myself writing for things that i don't know everything about yet but...here i am writing melwav. i've been waiting for fucking MONTHS to know more about melvin and now that i do i'm going absolutely ballistic. i keep getting distracted throughout my day thinking about this man.  
> i hope more people write them soon...i'm very enamored by this and i...LOVE CASE FILES!!! please go watch/read it if you haven't yet!  
> aagh....oof. okay. sorry. i just love waver a lot. okay. whew.


End file.
